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Friday, April 18, 2014

QotD, for Good Friday: "The chill ascends from feet to knees, / The fever sings in mental wires ..." T.S. Eliot

The chill ascends from feet to knees,
The fever sings in mental wires.
If to be warmed, then I must freeze
And quake in frigid purgatorial fires
Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think \
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.